


How Greg and John Became More

by HeavenScent



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavenScent/pseuds/HeavenScent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's not doing well, so Greg likes to check up on him from time to time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Greg and John Became More

**Author's Note:**

> This story could be triggering for some people, so if you think you might be one of those people, check the end notes before reading.
> 
> This little idea popped into my head while I was working on a longer piece, and it had to be written! Hope you enjoy it :)

Gregory Lestrade sighed as he pushed open the door to 221 Baker Street. Mrs Hudson had given him a key after the tenth time he'd dropped by unexpectedly to check on John. Since then it had become a habit to see the doctor a few times a week. This was the first time he'd dropped round after six and he hoped John wasn't in the middle of something.

He didn't bother to skip the creaky stairs up to 221B; he wasn't trying to creep up on the man, like he'd done a few times early in the routine. The door to the lounge room was ajar and Greg let himself in, expecting to find John in his armchair, or sprawled across the lounge in a way so reminiscent of Sherlock that it made Greg ache. Instead, the lights were off and no sound came from anywhere in the flat.

Lestrade frowned and called out hesitantly. "John? You here mate?" There was no answer, but Greg felt there was someone in the flat. He checked the kitchen first. No-one. The bathroom was next; nothing there either. He wanted to check Sherlock's room, but not even John had been in there since the Fall, so he didn't dare.

Instead he silently made his way upstairs to John's room, skipping the creaky second and tenth stairs. He pushed the door open gently, wanting John to be sleeping peacefully. The room was empty. Greg slumped against the doorframe. Damn. He still had that feeling at the back of his neck that meant there was something alive here. And the only place he hadn't checked was Sherlock's room. Fuck.

He ran his hands through his hair, blew out a harsh breath and glanced down the stairs. After staring for a minute he walked down them slowly, went through the kitchen and stopped outside Sherlock's door. He steeled himself before twisting the handle and pushing it open, not knowing what to expect.

"Jesus, John." Greg blinked a few times in shock before absorbing the scene.

John was sitting on the end of the bed, head bowed, elbows on knees. Lestrade did a double-take of John's hands. More specifically, what John was holding in his hands.

Greg made sure to move slowly, non-threateningly, as he approached the doctor. "John? What's going on?"

John didn't answer, just kept staring at the needle in his hands. A sardonic smile quirked his lips and he didn't bother wiping the tears off his face before he spoke. "I'm sad Greg, can't you tell?"

Lestrade shook his head and crouched down before the doctor. "I think this is just a little beyond 'sad' John." He slowly reached for the needle but the doctor pulled back. Greg let his hand drop and looked up into the other man's face. "Please don't do this John. Please."

The man sighed and shook his head slowly, still not making eye contact. "Why not? Why do you care?"

Lestrade flinched: that hurt. A lot actually. Greg was surprised how much it hurt to be asked that, especially by John. "Because I'm your friend, and I care about what happens to you. I want good things for you, for you to be happy. If you do this," he gestured to the needle, "you won't be anything John. You'll just be…gone. For good." 

Lestrade glanced away, then back. He tried to look into John's eyes as he added, "and I'd miss you, you twat." He flushed lightly, but refused to look away. John's eyes snapped to his, probably trying to deduce if he was being truthful. Finally, after a few painful heartbeats, John nodded slowly and held out the needle, point-down.

Greg took it gently and sighed in relief once he held it. He desperately wanted to ask what was in it, but didn't want to spook John, so he left it. The fact that John didn't comment on his hesitation, just stared at his hands again, told Greg more than anything that it was probably something lethal.  
"Thank you John."

The doctor snorted and clenched his hands together. "What for?"

Lestrade carefully transferred the needle to his left hand and put his right over John's fists. "For trusting me."

John looked up and searched his face; he apparently found what he was looking for because he replied "yeah…yeah, you're probably the only one I do trust now, apart from Mrs Hudson." He heaved a huge sigh and relaxed his hands again. "Thank you too."

Lestrade tilted his head quizzically.

John cleared his throat. "For…you know…caring…about what happens to me."

Greg smiled then, a truly happy smile. "Any time, John, any time."

**Author's Note:**

> There are allusions to suicide.


End file.
